


Eyes On Eyes

by orphan_account



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Adult Content, Blood, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Remix, Romance, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eyes are the window to the soul...</p><p>THF Fandom Remix Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes On Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heliotropium peruvianum](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9737) by Icarus Defiled. 



Tom’s eyes are on me and I love it. I won’t ever tell him how much I notice his gaze because even if he likes to think he’s being discreet, he must know deep down inside that he couldn’t hide such an obvious thing from me; just like I can’t hide my love for it from him. If I ever told him that I knew and wanted his gaze on me at all times, it might stop because he’d worry that his adorations are too obvious.

He tries not to say it, mostly for David’s sake, I can see the twitch in his left eye when Tom and I skirt too close to what frankly is the unavoidable truth that is our relationship. We can’t let David know. He thinks it’s all a fan kink, but it’s so much more than that. Sometimes I think he must be blind not to see it, but it’s a good thing in a way; if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to me and my twin, then we’d be in trouble.

I love watching him too, I like to think I’m a bit less overt but in reality, I’m probably not. I know we say that we don’t follow what goes on the internet, but I find it pretty entertaining to see what we do from the fan perspective, those little gifs that pop up of our intimate gestures. I will smile almost wistfully at them and then turn and look at Tom, until his eyes see mine, letting him know through my gaze that his beauty inspires me.

We were in New York, walking down the streets with a rare freedom that we could no longer get in most of mainland Europe, when we found one of those beautiful, charming and almost fairyland type Christmas shops. I was busy playing with the glitter and marvelling over the crystal shapes, but Tom was occupied with something else which in a way was much more plain in my eyes, but to him it was something that required all his attention.

I watched him admiring it with a reverence that was breathtaking, like it was something precious to be only given the gentlest touches; I’d like to think that it was the same look that he gives me when we make love, but there’s something more to his looks during those quiet times and in a way, something less as well.

 

I watch the lights create coloured spots in my retina. I close my eyes and absorb myself in Tom’s mesmerising notes that float from the piano. The spots are still burned in my vision, but all I see is him. I want him to Zoom into me. He’s all I see and I’m all he sees and it’s perfect.

I feel the flashes on my skin and I fear that it burns me, burns my soul; there’s a strange truth in the old superstition that a picture can contain your soul. I fear that mine gets burned and scattered, but then I open my eyes and let myself hone back into Tom and know that my soul will never burn, he is my soul and we protect each other.

My masks drop and change and crack and move and heal and Tom is the only one who can truly see through it all. For that I am infinitely grateful. I love him forever, for picking up those traces of porcelain and putting them back in the collection, so I can wear them again later to shield my face from the glare. He will wipe the shattered dust from my face and leave my visage clear and bright for him; the only one that matters.

The girls love Tom and it hurts. Anything that wants me to share my soul hurts me. How can they expect me to rip myself in half and throw him to their biting claws? It was unthinkable. I see them throw underwear on the stage, and I am barely able to prevent myself from wrinkling my nose up in disgust,. Who knows where they’ve been or what diseases might be on them, but the mask is in place and I have to play the part.

I grin through my words and saunter over to Tom to sing in his ear. I’m practically humping him on the stage and the crowd loves it. I love when they love it; it’s so voyeuristic of me I know, but when those eyes shine with something dirty, it turns me on so badly.

It isn’t to remind Tom who he belongs to. He knows how tightly we are bound to each other; it would be like not knowing that your heart is in your chest. It’s to remind _them_ , the vultures. Don’t get me wrong, I love my fans, _our_ fans, but sometimes they need a little reminder of where they stand in my life.

My pulse races as I push the boundaries of my on stage persona. I know David will give us shit for it later, but the childish glee I feel, seeing if I can get Tom _really_ going on stage, is more than worth it. If I can get him going now, then I can’t wait for later when we’re on our own.

When the show is over, I carefully remove every trace of my makeup. I don’t want any masks between me and Tom, not during this time, our own time. I almost want Tom to remove it for me so that he will be able to see the real me as it’s revealed inch by inch. Sometimes I indulge in this desire, but today I want something a bit more physical, rather than the gentle gestures that Tom sometimes showers me in. I can feel his gaze burning my back, I know he thinks I’m not looking but how could I not look?

“You’re like a bird sometimes, you know; one of the ones with the big feathers and the weird colours?” he says to me. My face is straight, but inside I’m laughing. Underneath it all, we’re still brothers poking stupid jibes at each other.

“A parrot, Tom, it’s called a parrot. How the fuck did you pass school again?” I say, not sounding as humoured as I am, but I don’t worry about it; Tom will get it eventually even if he doesn’t now.

He gets defensive. “Well, you are. We could get you a little mirror and a ring to sit in, so that you could spend all of your time admiring how beautiful you are. I bet we could get that Gucci guy to do it.”

I don’t like him saying stuff like that, like he doesn’t get it; get who I’m looking at when I look in the mirror. I notice everything, every flaw in my face that stops me being him and I abhor them. I want to be him so badly sometimes, to crawl under his skin and feel forever embraced.

I know my face is a storm right now. I’ve darkened. I know that if I turned back to the mirror again my eyes would be hard and black. He’s my everything; but I can’t help but goad him, make him think he might not be. I don’t know what makes me do that, become this creature. It’s not a mask, it’s all me, but another side, like a switch that only Tom can flick. It’s the closest to the normal sibling teasing that I get but I fall into the role with too much seriousness.

“You want to put me into a cage, Tomi? Lock me away to be just yours, your pretty little song bird? Your beautiful, docile pet?” I say, not really sure why I’m behaving this way, but unable to stop. I can see him shrink into himself and I hate myself for making him think that I might not be his, but I need the right answer; I need to hear that we’re here because we want to be, not just because we can’t get away.

“Never a cage, Bill. Just a bench in the sun and a piece of glass to remind you of what you are.” I know my grin is close to devilish, I should never doubt that Tom knows the right answer. I don’t know if he can hold my gaze when I’m like this but my god, he’s trying.

“And what am I Tomi?” I have to push it, I always push it.

“Bill. You’re my Bill.”

I smile brightly and go back to taking the thick mascara off my lashes. How did I deserve something so perfect? It’s a question I ask myself often, but I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer.

I all but crawl on my knees to Tom, who is sitting just behind me, slinking like a panther stalking its prey. I suppose I am in a way, only I don’t need to hunt; my prey will come to me and submit to my will. I shed my disguise and costume as I walk towards him. When I get in this mode I forget that I am his prey as well, and as he nibbles that sensitive junction of my neck, just below my ear, I am certain that we’ll be going all night tonight.

I touch his neck lightly and worry that I’ve pushed him too far; I find it hard to stop sometimes, but he always forgives me, always lets me get away with it. I hope tonight that it’s still the case, “I’m going to bed. Coming?” I ask.

I am praying that Tom never loses his ability to know the right answer. I sound pleading to my own ears, I have to seek out his dark eyes with mine; I have to be that needy child who can’t let go of their support system.

“Always,” he whispers to me, with that reverence that I desire so badly from him always.

I get him to go hard and fast, pushing him to let go and let the sensation of being with him overwhelm me. I encourage him with the rapid tilts of my hips and the soft, hoarse whispers in his ear. I don’t want it to hurt; I’m not a masochist, but I do want to be able to feel it tomorrow. I want that small little reminder that Tom knows he’s mine as much as I am unerringly his. I cling to him so hard that I know I must be creating bloody scratches all over his back and arms, but I can’t stand to let him go, even if it would be much better for him.

My masks are put to one side – when it is just us there is no need for them, I am myself in the way only Tom can get me to be.

I see myself in his eyes and I know one thing so clearly;

I could love no one as much as I love him.

He’s perfection.


End file.
